


Learning to Smile

by donned_a_mummer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Eccomiah, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Plot, WildeProxy, mad love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donned_a_mummer/pseuds/donned_a_mummer
Summary: Ecco suffers from nightmares which forces her to acknowledge her past, surfacing old wounds. Jeremiah comforts her and does what he can to help in any way. They’ve always been there for one another, through thick and thin. They begin to realize feelings which they develop for one another, throughout the years.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to working on this fanfic after about a month. I was in a writer’s block, but now I’m ready to write.  
> I absolutely love these two and their moments in the show. I hope you enjoy reading this and i’ll update as soon as I can.

Flashes of color painted the people, each filtered in bright lights. My eyes were consumed by the excitement of the elaborate displays. Clutching my mother’s hand, I pulled her around to each amusement.

“Slow down honey. We have time to get to them all,” my mother tried calming me.

“How can I slow down? We finally came to the circus after years of asking,”

“I know you’re eager, but I promise you we could come back tomorrow night if we don’t see everything. Okay?,” she responded softly.

I contemplated her offer, walking in a less frantic pace, “Alright,”

We walked by a few show booths, stopping at ‘The Strongman’. The man stood with his arms folded as he was hit with frying pans, bricks, and bats. He remained unfazed by the attacks, reacting only slightly. The show went on for a few more minutes of brick throwing then with one last swift swing to the man’s head, the audience clapped. The man had suffered no injury to the hit, amusing the crowd. I clapped, curious of the biological factors which allowed him to face such force of attack.

My mother and I decided to see what deserts we could get ahold of, so we walked through the food stands. A sweet aroma filled my nose. I could tell the scent of baked cookies anywhere. My mother had been drawn in as well, both deciding on what desert we craved. We walked up to the food trailer and were greeted by a bearded man who wore a white apron.

My mother gave her order, “One chocolate chip please. And...what would you like honey?”

“I would like a snickerdoodle, please,” I requested.

The man turned to get the cookies and came back with a large one, handing it to my mother, “Here’s the chocolate chip,”

The man looked down to me and said, “Sorry kid, all out of snickerdoodles. Blame my sneaky nephews. You want another kind? I have sugar, chocolate, and peanut butter cookies left,”

“Um...I’ll take peanut butter,” I said with some disappointment.

The man offered, “I could warm it up for you a little bit, so it seems more fresh if you would like. It should only take a few minutes,”

My mother looked to me, “How’s that sound?”

“I would like that. Thank you,” I spoke to the man, moving further into the trailer to bake the cookie.

My mother noticed my disappointment, “Do you want some of mine?”

“It’s okay. I know how much you love chocolate chip,”

“You sure? I have plenty,” motioning to the cookie’s massive size.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I gave reassurance.

She nodded in acknowledgment.

We stood waiting in silence, then a voice caught our attention, “Hey Christine!”

We turned towards the voice. I didn’t recognize the young man, but my mother seemed to.

She greeted the tall, slim man with a hug, “It’s nice to see you. We haven’t talked in a while. How are you doing?”

The man responded, “I’m doing well. I just got my doctorate degree. It took a while, but with hard work you could achieve anything. How’s life treating you?”

“I’m good. My daughter and I are having fun tonight,” my mother smiled, urging me to greet the man.

“Hi,” I waved shyly.

He asked me, “You like the circus?”

  
I nodded a yes. My mother saw I was a little shy, so she turned attention away from me, asking the man about his career.

My attention strayed from the conversation, shuffling my feet and moving to a nearby bench which I could wait for my cookie. I kicked my feet through the air, getting impatient. There was shuffling nearby, seaming to come from the back of the trailer. I poked my head around, trying to find the noise’s cause. There was nothing in sight and my curiosity grew. I sat up from the bench and followed closer to the source. I came the the trailer’s side, peaking around the corner.

Two ginger-haired boys were struggling on the grass. One held what appeared to be a cookie as the other tried to climb atop the other boy, reaching for the cookie.

The one holding the treat held back the other, “It’s mine! I’m not going to give you any!”

The other protested, “I found it first!”

“Well, you didn’t grab it first!”

“You know snickerdoodles are my favorite!” The boy with glasses pleaded.

I gasped in realization. _So they’re the ones who took the last snickerdoodle._

I moved into the open, “I think that belongs to me,”

The two stopped fighting, looking at me. I found identical features between them, concluding they were twins.

The one without glasses intrusively asked, “Says who?”

“Me,” stating with confidence.

The twins got up from the ground and moved closer towards me.

“We- I got it first. It’s not yours,” the one holding the cookie taunted.

I argued, crossing my arms, “Well I had just ordered a snickerdoodle from your uncle’s trailer, but he said he had no more because you two stole he last one. So that cookie should be mine,”

The ginger with glasses mentioned to his brother, “She has a good point,”

The one with the snickerdoodle pouted, shoving the cookie to his brother and stomped away, “You’re no fun,”

The kind ginger approached timidly, handing me the cookie, “I’m Jeremiah. My angry twin who just stomped off is Jerome. Sorry about him,”

I accepted the cookie and smiled, “It’s okay. He’s nothing I couldn’t have handled,”

He smiled back and laughed a little at my comment, “So what’s your name?”

“All my friends call me Ecco,” I offered happily.

“Nice to meet you Ecco. You enjoying the circus?”

“Yeah, it’s my first time and it’s so fun. I finally convinced my mother to bring me this year. The shows are incredible to watch,”

“That’s cool. Do you have a favorite act?”

“I don’t know yet, but I thought the snake dancer was interesting,”

Jeremiah perked up, “That’s my mother. I’ll tell her you liked her performance today. Maybe she’ll introduce you to her snake Sheba,”

“I’d love that. Thanks,”

After a few moments he gave a goodbye and started walking away, “Well...I’ll leave you to enjoy your cookie,”

Before he left I stopped him, “Wait!”

He turned around and I broke off a part of the snickerdoodle, offering the piece to him, “Snickerdoodles are my favorite too,”

He accepted the piece, “Thanks. I hope I see you again,”

Waving my goodbyes, I begin to return to my mother ”I think you will. See you around Jeremiah,”

He waved back with a smile, “Bye Ecco”


	2. Painful Pencil Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is in Ecco’s perspective and there are flashbacks, so stick with me a little bit here. The flashbacks play an essential role to understanding Ecco’s behavior and mentality. (I’ll explain more at the end notes).  
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. Feel free to ask or tell me anything. Enjoy!

A repeated slam echoed off the walls as my knuckles collided with the beaten punching bag. Sweat coated my skin in a thin layer. I wiped my moist forehead and let out a long breath. My black tank top clung to my skin as I continued to release my clouded frustration. A clinging from the chains snapped repeatedly, hanging to the slate ceiling. My eyebrows knit, growing weary with my exercise. I swung with a last effort, twisting my body with swift momentum. My arms burned with an ache. Soreness overwhelmed the nerves.

Water ran past my lips, drinking in greedy gulps. I discard the plastic bottle and unstrap my workout gloves. I toss the gloves aside as I tuck my loose blonde locks behind my ear. My hands rest on my hips, attempting to steady my heavy breaths. My eyes enter a calming darkness as air rushes through my nose. My body tries to relax. I embrace the silence and decide to listen to my exhausted body. I head out of the room and out into the vast complexity of hallways. Steps travel through sharp corners and elaborate paths of blank walls. My direction is locked on to the spare room.

My finger presses down on a small button, voicing into the box, “Ecco 496,”

The door slides open, greeting my arrival, “Welcome Miss Ecco,”

I step through the dim room as the door slides back and locks in place. Sweat-drenched clothes cover the floor, shedding my garments as I head to the bathroom. My bare toes curl, making contact with the cold tile. I close the door and approach the edge of the porcelain bath tub, twisting the nozzle. I move to the mirror and wait for the tub to fill. Light locks fall to my shoulders and brush my neck as I untie my loose bun. The pins release the hair and strains slowly fall to frame my face. The cold metallic makes contact, turning on the sink to splash my skin. Droplets cover my face and fall to the counter. I wipe away any access makeup and move to the tub. I swish my fingers through the water, satisfied with the temperature. My foot breaks the surface of the warm water, settling down to the bottom. I submerge my scarred body. My head tilts back to the porcelain edge. Heavy eyelids flickering, I rest my eyes to enjoy the soothing waters.

After a few minutes, I emerge from the tub. Clutching the towel laying on the tub’s side, I wrap it around myself. I step out of the bathroom, tiny droplets colliding to the floor, and find Jeremiah sitting on the edge of my bed.

He lifts his head, then quickly looks down, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,”

“It’s alright,” I respond in a slight whisper.

A silence hangs in the room.

Jeremiah opens his mouth, prepared to speak, but I interject, “Look. About earlier. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shut you out like that. You deserve to know,”

“Ecco, you shouldn’t be the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have asked about the drawing. It was improper of me push the subject. I know it’s hard for you to talk about,” Jeremiah reassured.

I sighed, knowing this wasn’t going to end soon so I moved to the closet. Jeremiah caught on, blushing while turning away to give me privacy. I pulled on my comfortable night clothes and stepped back into Jeremiah’s view, rubbing my hair with the towel.

Lifting my head to speak, my eyes meet his, “No. I promised to devote my life to you. So you should know the complete story,”

Jeremiah decided not to insist further. He knew I had already made up my mind. The bed creaked as I positioned myself, some space between us. An uneasy breath escapes my lips, telling Jeremiah the painful memories I tried to shut out for years.

  
___________________  
**FLASHBACK**

A girl with loose blonde curls runs through the grim streets, rushing to get home to her mother. The crisp breeze pushed her on, giddy with excitement. It was the day she had finally passed her math test for this week. She clutched the paper which crinkled in the wind. A bright smile had painted her face, until she came to a halt. She spotted two boys in her class. They had made a habit of teasing her of her lower intellect on a weekly basis.

She slowly started to make her way away from the boys, until one shouted, “Hey, where you going little miss ignorance?”

The girl stoped in her tracks, turning wearily towards the boys as they approached. Eyes were glued to her ruby red sneakers, trying to avoid any further confrontation.

One of the boys had suddenly snatched the paper she held in her tight grasp, “What do you got here?”

The girl reached for her paper, “Give that back or I’ll-“

“Or you’ll what? Tell your mommy?” One of the boys taunted.

The girl made attempt to reach for her paper again, but the boy held it up in the air, out of her reach. She stood on the tips of her toes, struggling to take her paper back.

“What’s wrong shorty, is it too high for you to reach?” Teased the boy holding her paper.

“Give it back!”

“No way dummy,” said the other boy as he pushed her to the ground.

The girl lay on the sidewalk’s concrete, a stinging building in her eyes.

The boy holding the paper examined it, “I bet you cheated on this test. There’s no way you were able to pass this on your own,”

The girl protested, “I didn’t cheat!”

“Sure you didn’t,” he remarked sarcastically.

“Please, just give it back,” she pleaded.

“How bout I rip it up instead?”

Before the girl could protest, the boy violently tore the paper. He then tossed the remains to the crying girl on the floor.

The boy looked to his friend, “Come on, let’s leave this crybaby to run home to her mommy,”

Once they left, the girl began picking up the shreds, carefully placing them in her backpack. Tears stained the pieces of paper. When she picked up all the pieces which weren’t blown by the wind, she trudged home with heavy steps.

She knew her mother would notice her frown, so she did her best to put on a smile. She began to think of any other good news she could tell her mother, as the first option was scattered throughout her backpack. She had a small burst of excitement, realizing he had a drawing from last week which she had done in her free time. Mother always loved seeing her drawings, especially since this drawing was a portrait of her mother.

The girl rummaged through her diamond-studded backpack, retrieving the drawing. The girl came to the block’s corner, bringing her feet to the porch. She turned the nob and entered the threshold. Her steps had a small skip to them, eager to show her mother the drawing.

“Mom, I’m home!” she called out.

The girl dropped her backpack and searched for her mother.

She called out again, walking past the front rooms, “Mom! I have a surprise for you!”

The girl could hear the creaking of the wood floorboards which held her steps. She moved throughout the quiet house. Each moment brought her closer to worry. Her mother would always tell her if she were going somewhere and wouldn’t be home.

She had came to the closed door of her mother’s room. Desperate to find her mother, she pushed the door open. The girl was overcome with a painful and numbing shock. Blood pooled around the head of her motionless mother laying on the floor. Her heart shattered as the world had ended before her eyes.

The girl began to move to her mother’s lifeless body, taking no mind to the liquid crimson staining her shoes. Her grip loosened and the drawing drifted into the scarlet pool, soaking the paper’s edge. The girl crumpled to the floor, clutching onto her mother’s body, pleading for her to get up.

Her breath came to a whispering sob, “No, no, no. You have to get up. I need you. You can’t leave me alone. I love you,”

She repeated her pleading, resting her head on her mother’s stomach. Sobbing filled the empty room as the girl lay shaking. She spotted the stained drawing, stuffing it in her pocket as she continued to shed tears.

___________________

I jolted up tears staining my cheeks, trying to catch my breath. I grasped the bedsheets, frantically looking around the blackened room. My palms covered my face, trying to calm myself with deep inhales. With a few seconds passing, I got up from my bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

I flicked on the switch and illuminated the area in a blinding light. I winced, sleepy eyes not yet used to the brightness. Blinking a few times, my view adjusted to the room’s illumination. I cooled my face with water and rested my hands on the counter. Staring at myself in the mirror, I reflect on the sudden traumatic outburst. With resurfaced memories, the nightmares had returned to torment me.

‘ _No more sleep for me tonight. Might as well start the day and get dressed.’_

I approach my closet, choosing black jeans and a deep-red blouse with dark sequins. I tug at my black leather jacket hanging in the closet and pull it around my shoulders. Moving from the closet, I stop at my nightstand. I open the wood drawer, staring at the stained item it held. The only tie to my past which I had accepted. Reaching my hand into the compartment, I gently lift the drawing. My thumbs rub at the patches of dried scarlet. I stuff the paper into my jacket pocket, as I do every morning, and close the drawer.

“Black coffee, two sugars. Black coffee, two sugars. Black coffee, two sugars,” I repeated Jeremiah’s coffee preference as a soothing mantra.  
  
I leave the room and head towards the kitchen designation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My idea was having Ecco recall her past through nightmares once she begins talking to Jeremiah about her forgotten past. In a way, Ecco is the one narrating the flashbacks/dreams. There are certain words which I intentionally contrast, such as ‘mother’ and ‘mom’. Ecco as a child would use ‘mom’ and adult Ecco uses ‘mother’. I’ll probably explain why she has that change in later chapters. I’m excited to continue and let me know what you think of the story. Thank you all for reading! <3


	3. In Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter. I had some fun writing it and trying to expand Ecco’s personality a little. The flashbacks serve as a break from a scene, moving onto the next sequence (just so you know). The flashback storyline goes in its own chronological order and the present storyline goes in chronological order as well. Enjoy!

The click of heels bounce off the thick gray walls. A cup of coffee clatters lightly on its petite plate as pancakes sit beside it on the tray. It’s sweet smell follows me into his office. Jeremiah doesn’t immediately greet me with a ‘good morning’ as he usually does. With his back turned towards his work, I place the tray down.

I straighten myself with hands behind my back and chin up, “Would you like anything else?”

He turns almost abruptly, somewhat startled, “Ecco. I didn’t notice you come in,”

I motion to the tray of food, “I brought you breakfast this morning,”

His eyes shift to the meal, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you,”

“I also want to thank you for letting me stay here while my apartment is undergoing repairs,” I mention.

“Of course. That thief should have known better than to break into _your_ apartment,” he speaks with satisfaction.

I don’t respond, standing in place as I wait for him to release me to my other duties.

His gaze shifts to the floor for a few moments then looks to me with concern in his eyes, “How did you sleep last night?”

I’m stunned, not prepared for his question, “I- I didn’t sleep,”

His lips part slightly and he draws closer, “If you need to take the day off or next few days, you can if you need to. I’ll be able to manage,”

Shaking my head, I look down slightly and speak with a quiet tone, “No. I’ll be fine,”

He steps nearer, “But you need sleep. A few days won’t affect much. Please, take the time off,”

My head lowers with my gaze fixed on my leather boots, “I can’t sleep, Jeremiah. I try, but I can’t,”

“Nightmares?” he questions.

Nodding my head in confirmation, I unclasp my hands from one another and rest them at my sides. Jeremiah moves in front of me, placing is hand gently on my left arm. I look up, finding understanding in his eyes.

“I get them too. Some are about Jerome, but most are about being locked in this place, alone forever with no one to talk to,” he admits.

My heart flutters as he takes his hands in mine.

“Ecco, you mean a lot to me. I hate to see you in distress. I want you to know that you can tell me anything. I’m here for you,” he speaks with a cute reassuring smile.

I process his words for a few moments then move to wrap my arms around his torso in an embrace. He wraps his arms around my body, holding me close.

“And I’ll always be here for you, whenever you need me,” I tell him with my ear to his chest.

He brings his head closer and rest his cheek to the back of my head.

‘ _I could stay in his arms forever.’_

  
_____________________  
**FLASHBACK**

Red and blue overwhelm her vision. The girl sits on the porch steps, tear stains marking her cheeks. Her unblinking eyes are transfixed to the dry, shriveled grass. She sits with a blank mind and blank heart. Her mouth is agape as she is in a motionless shock.

A policeman approaches the girl, crouching down, “Hey sweetheart, can I ask you a few questions if you’re comfortable to?”

The girl nods a yes.

The cop adjusts their position and asks, “Do you know if anyone wanted to hurt your mother?”

“M-my my m-mother?” she stuttered out.

“Yes, your mother. Did anyone have a grudge against her?” The cop asked.

The girl continues to stare at the ground, pausing for a few seconds and then speaks emotionless, “My father would yell at her all the time. Sometimes he would get really mad and hit her. He took a knife one night and held it in front of her. After that day m-my mother took me and said we were leaving to Gotham,”

The cop waits a few seconds then asks, “Did he know where you left to?”

The girl finally looks up, answering, “I don’t know,”

“Do you have a family member who could watch over you?” the policeman asked in sympathy.

“My uncle lives in Gotham. That’s one reason why we came here. My m-mother wanted to be closer to her brother,” she wearily spoke.

“Alright. We’ll call him down here to come pick you up. Let me know if you need anything sweetheart,” offered the cop while standing up.

The shaking girl gave a slight nod, tucking her head into her knees while trying to filter out the noise.

_______________________

Warm drops of liquid fall to my cold palms. The dim lighting, plasters the room in shadows, calming my confused heart. I sit beside Jeremiah as we confide in each other. The ruffle of the bedsheets crease under my movement. Moving my head down to his shoulder, the hot tears stain his coat. Taking in a shaky breath, I close my eyes and find comfort in his lilac scent. A warm touch brushes across my hands as we interlock our fingers. I gradually open my eyes, finding the courage to look at his face.

My gaze lingers up his features, observing each detail until I reach his soft eyes, “You know what the sad part is? They never even found who did it. I was never able to look into the face of the person who had killed her,”

My frown deepens, red-rimmed eyes falling back to my shoes.

He squeezes my hand, “I’m sorry,”

The air is still for a few long moments. It was his turn to share. His foot uneasily adjusts, trying to find the words.

“When my mother died, I was devastated. Even more so when I found out my brother murdered her in cold blood. He had no remorse. He said her death was my fault,” Jeremiah spoke carefully, voice breaking at the last remark.

I hesitate for a second as I raise my thumb to his cheek and gently wipe the tear, “It wasn’t your fault,”

His eyes lift from the floor. His gaze shifts between my eyes and lips, leaning forward ever so slightly. My lips part and my eyes narrow shut as I lean closer and closer. As I’m close enough to count his freckles, the alarm wails and we draw back. The lights overwhelmingly illuminate the room in an irritating red.

I urgently get up from the bed, worried of any intruders. My instincts kick in and I return to my stoic demeanor.

Jeremiah gets up as well, motioning to the single monitor across the room, “Let’s see who’s trespassing,”

We move to the monitor, pressing the power on. The video steadily fills in color. A small dark dot flutters in the right corner of the screen.

I state, “Bats again,”

“It’s always bats. I’ll have to do something about that vent,” he sighed in annoyance.

“I’ll get the cage. You get the fruit,” I say as I begin to walk off to deal with the situation.

  
____________________  
**FLASHBACK**

The streets buzz constantly in the night as neon lights pour through the window. The girl lays on the uncomfortably hard mattress, trying to get sleep. Her eyes begin to flicker, but bloody images flash in her head and awaken her to another round of crying. She stares at the crevasses in the ceiling, connecting the lines into a picture. After a while, she pulls her legs to the side of the bed. She walks to the door which is leaking light into the room and cracks it open enough to get a visual.

Beer bottles litter the floor. Some broken and some still full. She spots her uncle laying across an old couch, drinking the next bottle. She pouts her lips and closes the door, returning to her bed. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to get as comfortable as she possibly can. She finds no use in getting sleep. Her hand digs through her pocket, searching for her drawing. Her fingers grasp onto the crumpled sheet. She pulls it out and does her best to smoothen the edges. The page is still wet at the corners, leaving a light mark on her fingers. The girl turns on her side and lays the drawing next to her on the pillow.

She’s drawn in and out of consciousness and whispers, “Good night, mother,”

As she finally drifts into a peaceful sleep.

_________________

I reminisce the events of last night.

‘ _He was so close. I almost kis- no it must have just been a spur of the moment thing. We were talking about our feelings and we were vulnerable. But was it something more? Does he feel the same way? What would have happened if the alarm didn’t go off? Come on, get ahold of yourself’_

I snap out of it, ready to start the day. I’m greeted by the gray walls which I have grown use to, heading towards the kitchen to get myself breakfast and Jeremiah’s coffee.

I voice my identification, unlocking the door. I’m stunned. Jeremiah is sitting at the table already drinking his coffee. Usually he’s working at this time while I bring him his coffee. He turns his gaze towards me, smiling. I walk in, a burnt smell consuming my nose.

“Did you burn something?” I accuse.

He speaks with a nervous smile, “I...uh...made you breakfast,”

My eyes widen in shock, “Um...Thank you,”

I move to sit down and see a plate of slightly burnt pancakes.

“Sorry, I’m a terrible cook,” He shyly states.

“It’s okay. I appreciate you making breakfast for me. I wasn’t expecting this,” I smile.

I take a bite and comment, “It’s not that bad. It’s actually pretty good,”

A smile tugs at his lips, “I’m glad you like it,”

He spends a few seconds looking at me and then his eyebrows shift as if he realized something, “Ecco, I need to tell you something,”

I look up from my plate, a little more serious.

He speaks with composure, “I want to help you bring yourself closure. I want to find out who was behind your mother’s murder,”

My gaze falls to the plate and I shake my head, “Jeremiah, I can’t let you to do that,”

“Please. I don’t want you to continue to suffer,” he pleads.

“That’s too much to ask for,” I state, looking up at him with a long pause between us.

His eyes and voice soften as he moves closer, “I’d do anything for you my dear,”

My cheeks heat up at his comment, giving in, “Even if you did, how could you find who did it without seeing the police reports?”

“That’s where you come in. You would break into the GCPD and retrieve the case file in the archives. After all, I do want to get a layout of the station for future use” he states with a smirk.

I mirror his smile, “Alright. Maybe this will be fun,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re going to be getting more into the plot for the next few chapters and I can’t wait to be writing that. This will probably be the most complex and longest fanfic I have written, so I hope you stick with me on this journey. Let me know if you have any questions about the story or anything you want clarity on. If you ask me about any of the scenes, I’ll be happy to talk about it. Also feel free to comment. I love to read what you all have to say and I appreciate every one of my readers <3


	4. Misplaced Faults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven’t updated in a while. This chapter ended up being longer than I thought, but I’m happy with how it turned out. We’re getting more into the plot now and this is probably the chapter which starts the beginning of the main plot.
> 
> Thank you so much demon_tea_parties for encouraging me through my writing process! Thank you for all your support and advice! You’ve helped me more than you know! I hope everyone enjoys reading and let me know what you think of the fic. Thank you everyone for your comments and kudos that you have given me. I appreciate all that I have gotten <3

Simple droplets disperse along the asphalt crevasses of the grim streets. Tiny sprinkles of water shower over the city and fall to the roofs in soothing clatters. Gunfire echoes through the dirty alleys. Gruesome crimes find refuge in a fog which haunts the ruthless night. Puddles are disturbed by the splashes of quiet steps. The loose asphalt crunches under my boot. I make my way to the back, eyes processing each detail. They find an entrance, ears perking up. With precise steps, I approach the door. My ear presses to the secure door, shutting my eyes. The city sings it’s favorite song. Sirens wail in the distance. Angry car horns yell at one another. The dark puddles shift, building with each drop.

Silence is not disturbed on the other side of the door. The air is quiet. I reach inside my pocket, searching for the perfect tools. The cool metallic of bobby pins intrude on my fingers’ warmth. Lowering to the handle, I start working on the knob. With a few precise flicks, the lock releases. My palms delicately come to rest on the door’s handle. With a slight turn, the door cracks open. I peak inside. An office desk littered with documents is arranged on the left side of the entrance. I proceed further, analyzing the setting. A full cup of coffee sits atop the desk, among the clutter. My fingers wrap around the warm mug.

‘ _It’s fresh. Better work fast’_

Moving around the desk and past the room’s private holding cell, I head to an open doorway. Peering around the frame, there is an empty hallway. Moving out of the isolated room, I find my way down the hall. My presence has no intrusion on the inactivity. I read the lettering on the doors, remembering the layout. Footsteps and voices grow near. My fingertips glide against the concrete, rushing to the closest room. I slip inside a dim area and hide behind the open door of the break room. My fists clench, anxious for the voices to pass. Keys rattle, approaching my position. I look through the crack between the hinges. My breath stills.

They stop in front of the doorway, “Want a coffee before your next shift?”

My palms sweat, heart beating at the inside of my chest.

‘ _Keep walking. Don’t come in here.’_

I try to calm my nerves as the air seems to get warm.

“Nah. I already got my coffee,” the cop denies the offer as the two begin to walk off.

No longer in range, I let out a steady breath. I emerge from my hiding spot, checking the corridor.

‘ _All clear’_

I make my way down the hall and stop at a door marked ‘RECORDS’. I place my hand to the cool handle. With a discreet movement, I push on the door. My eyes shift and search for any sign of occupancy. I sneak inside. Metal cabinets cover the room. I walk through the rows, reading each label. Turning a corner to the next line, I’m drawn to a worn-down cabinet sitting in the room’s corner. My lips quirk, finding what I was looking for. The label reads ‘UNSOLVED’. I tug at the latch, but there’s no use. I pull out the hairpins from my jacket and begin working at the old lock. I gradually nudge through, lifting the tiny pins with an audible click. I put tension on the lock and drawer loosens, giving me access to the contents inside.

My fingers shuffle through each of the folders. Names who I am unfamiliar with float through my head, reading the names on each case file. Reaching the end of the file group, I hope my mother’s file is tucked in one of the two other drawers. I crouch down, using my tools once again. The next lock releases with a clack, giving me access. My fingers glide through the collection of folders. Teeth latch on to the bottom of my lip, building in anticipation.

Going through last names which start with the letter ‘E’, a door handle rattles. Snapping my head to the sound’s direction, I quickly move out of view and obscure myself behind a row of cabinets. The door opens and shoes seem to pound against the quiet room’s floors. My back clings to the smooth surface which I lay against. The steps grow closer. I steady my breaths. Realizing they are moving in my direction, I carefully crouch to the opposite side of the row. Their steps mirror mine. I catch a glimpse of the person, before settling in my new spot. I hear the footsteps stop around the rusted cabinet’s placement. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray they didn’t see me. A few long seconds pass. My jaw tenses. A metallic slam interrupts the painful silence, as the rusted drawer is closed.

The series of steps move away from the cabinet, traveling to a row on another side of the room. A drawer slides open. Papers ruffle and then the drawer latches back into place. The door reopens and closes as the person leaves to the hall.

I immediately crawl back to the cabinet, trying to pick the lock once again. All the pins lift up, but I struggle to pull out the drawer. It’s stuck. I try to wiggle it open, but it’s not prying loose. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I lift up and pull at it. The drawer finally slides open with a grinding scrape. Relieved, I continue my search and find where I left off. Sweat drips from my brow, as I sort through the last names beginning in ‘F’. My breath hitches and my mind pauses in a frozen second of time. I lift a folder with a wavering grip. My hearts beats in fear that it will disappear in my clutch, but it is real. Very real.

To ease my mind, I whisper the file’s name aloud, “Frances. Christine Frances,”

I stare at the name for a moment, then I snap out of my trance. Returning to the seriousness of the situation, I take out the contents. Folding the papers, I place them in my jacket’s inner pocket. I then make my way to the backdoor from where I came. Sneaking through the halls were no problem. Almost to the back doorway, I peak around the corner. I recognize one of the cops from the hallway, sitting in his chair sleeping. I gingerly slip inside. Putting attention on agile steps, I pass the holding cell and reach the desk. Getting near, he begins to stir. I cease all movement. He settles in his chair and I continue making my way to the door.

Wrapping my hand around the handle, the knob turns gently at my touch. I peer over my shoulder. The man remains asleep, as I proceed to exit to the misty streets. Tiptoeing out into the cold, I shut the door behind me. Successfully retrieving the files, I start-up my black motorbike and ride back to Jeremiah’s maze.

_______________________

**FLASHBACK**

The skies seem bleaker as rain seeps into the muddy ground. The girl holds her head down as she listens to the patter of rain. The pouring rain filters the condolences of loved ones she barely knew. Her shiny shoes sink into the slippery ground. She clutches a remembrance of the past. The stem of a black rose brings a once forgotten memory back to clarity. Black roses were her mother’s favorite. The girl and her mother used make them all the time.

_“Honey, could you hand me the black ink and food coloring?”_

_“Here you go mom,”_

_“Thank you my heart. Would you like to dip it in this time?”_

The girl presses her finger to a thorn, willing the memory to leave. Blood trickles down the stem and to the velvet petals. She holds up the rose. The rain had washed off the bottom half of the black, giving the rose a red and black gradient.

Time to say a final goodbye. Walking over, she places the rose atop the casket, resting her hand there for a few moments. With a trembling breath, she removes her hand and returns to where she was standing.

The rain masks the constant flow of tears, being drawn into an unforeseen nightmare as the casket is lowered into the ground. The droplets become heavier. The casket is consumed into the pit. The girl looks back to her shoes. Family members and friends begin to make their way to their cars. Leaves crunch under deliberate steps, as someone approaches.

A man crouches down in front of her to speak, “I’m really sorry. Your mom was a wonderful woman,”

The girl looks up, recognizing the voice. It was her mother’s friend they ran into at the circus.

He notices her reaction, “Do you remember me?”

The girl responds, “Yes, but you never told me your name,”

“Silly me. Sorry about that. I’m Eric,” introducing himself.

She nods in acknowledgment.

He places his hand to her shoulder, “If you ever need anything, just ask,”

She puts her head back down and he stands up, leaving her in peace.

Her uncle comes to her side, “Who was he?”

“One of mother’s friends,” she mumbles.

_______________________

Navigating through the maze, I stride to Jeremiah’s office. A familiar voice emanates from the room. My steps falter. Wordlessly approaching the entrance, my hand rests on the frame. A monitor buzzes with the voice of a maniac, displaying acts of terror at the gala, broadcasted for all of Gotham to view that night. Jeremiah shifts constantly in his chair as he watches events from the past unfold, when Jerome had performed a final act. Until he was revived to rein his terror over the city all over again.

Jerome stands with a grin on the brightly lit stage, “Who wants to hear a story?”

No one utters a word or dares make a move.

“Anyone? No? Well...I’ll tell you one anyway,” Jerome insists.

The crowd waits in fearful anticipation.

He tells the story as if to a group of children,“You see...there once was a mother bear who loved her cubs. She would sing to them every night. But then one night...a cub went missing. The mother bear became too sad to sing anymore. The lonely cub missed the lost cub and hoped they would come back, so mother bear could sing again. But...the cub never came back. So...you see...the lonely cub had to push mother bear off a cliff to end her suffering. Blah, blah, blah. You guys know the story right?”

A few whimpered, disturbed by the story and others were too petrified to pay attention to the grinning ginger.

Jerome’s gaze fell to the floor for a few moments then perked up, “If only the cub hadn’t went missing. Oh well. Now...who wants to play a game?”

Jerome jumped from the stage, laughing while finding his next victim. Jeremiah sat up to turn off the monitor. I politely move into the office. Jeremiah notices my presence, but he continues to stand still and stare at the screen.

He takes a deep breath, “Why did I have to leave? She would have lived...if I just stayed,”

I inch closer.

Wanting to keep him calm, I tenderly place my hand to his shoulder, “It wasn’t your fault. Jerome killed her. Not you. He just wanted to hurt you,”

He glances in my direction, but not directly at me. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words escape his lips.

He turns away and walks to his desk, “Did you find the file?”

My demeanor shifts, recovering from the moment.

I answer simply, “Yes,”

Taking the papers from my jacket, I walk over and place them on the desk. He spreads them across the surface to examine them thoroughly. His jaw tightens, his stance sways, and his eyebrows crease.

“No witnesses, dead-end prime suspect, only a few photos of the scene left. There’s not much here,” he states while reading the documents.

I move next to the desk to read them myself.

Sighing I admit, “This is going to be difficult,”

Taking a few of the documents in hand, he offers them to me, “Start by reading these. And I’ll search for anything in the others,”

I grab the papers and settle in a chair. Jeremiah remains standing, leaning over the desk with his arms outstretched. I rest my back against the chair. My eyes shift from word to word. I begin to lose focus, eyes becoming heavy. I readjust myself and try to keep my body awake. Arms resting on the table, I hold up the papers in front of me. Yawning, I bring two fingers up to rub my dry eyes. I drift them shut for a couple of seconds. When I glance up, Jeremiah is observing me.

“You’re tired. You should get some sleep. I’ll let you know if I find anything in the morning,” Jeremiah offers.

Too sleepy to say anything, I nod and get up from my chair.

Heading out the doorway, I hear a kind hushed tone, “Goodnight Ecco,”

_______________________

**FLASHBACK**

Car horns disturbed any fracture of peace on the violent streets. Stray cats scavenged for spoiled food. Beer bottles covered the stained floor. Shattered tears plummet to the vulnerable girl’s feet.

“You were a mistake,” vile words escape her drunk uncle’s mouth.

The girl’s tears cease for a moment.

“What?” She spoke in between sniffles.

“You heard me. Why do you think they fought all the time? Huh, little girl?” He spoke with disregard for her heartbreak.

She was taken back, shocked by his words.

She refused to accept the explanation, “No...that’s not true!”

“It was all because of you,” he spits harshly, pointing a finger at her.

“No! You’re lying! You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re just a stupid drunk!” She accuses with stinging eyes.

Her uncle tightens his jaw and huffs at her comment.

He turns to a wall and places his hands on his hips, frustrated. He stares at the bottle he holds. The girl stands in place, waiting for a reaction. Her uncle throws the bottle, shattering glass against the wall. The crying girl flinches.

“Go! Go to your room!” He screams at her.

She runs to her room crying and slams the door. Her back slides down the hardened wood and sits against the door. Cradling her head in her knees, she sobs. She shuts her eyes tight, hoping to will the heartache away. Her sniffles crowd the dreadfully quiet room. Nightly neon, marked over buildings, illuminate the room and cast still shadows. The sanctuary is quiet, despite the chaos haunting the streets. Hot tears flow in the freezing bedroom.

She gets up from her seated position and takes the drawing hidden from under her pillow. She sits on the edge of the sheets, admiring the depiction of her mother. The only piece of her which she has left.

Wiping the tears from her face, she confides in the drawing, “He doesn’t know anything,”

She calms her shuddered inhales, clearing her mind. She takes her scarlet backpack from under the bed. She begins stuffing it with clothes and a few personal items. Figuring she’s going to need some money, she decides to steal some from her uncle’s hidden stash. She had caught him one late night, restocking it.

Opening her door, she pokes her eye through the slim crack. Her uncle lays across the couch, passed out, immediately exhausted. She carefully makes her way past the couch and into the petite kitchen. She opens a cupboard and reaches for a plastic bag taped to the top. Her fingers find the plastic, pulling at the tape.

She hears stirring. Freezing in place, she waits. Springs creak—a sign of her uncle getting up. She remains still as he walks past the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. The door to his bedroom closes with a click. Now out of sight, she releases her breath. Her focus turns back to the money. She pulls and the tape and the bag comes loose. Getting up, she rushes back to her room.

A sharp pain shoots through her foot. She clenches her teeth and whimpers. Struggling to move away from the pile of glass, she tries to avoid other shards. Out of range, she crumbles to the ground. Her foot shakes, bearing the pain. She cradles her foot and examines it. A tiny piece sticks to her skin. Reaching for the glass, she pulls it from her skin, moaning in pain. A trickle of blood oozes from the fresh wound. Luckily, the shards was a small fragment, not big enough to cause severe injury.

She makes her way up from the dirty floor, limping back to the kitchen to get bandages. She pulls open a drawer and digs her hand through the multitude of items to find what she’s searching for. Her thumb brushes over wrapping. She takes a handful of bandages. She tears open the wrapping and applies a few over the cut. She grabs several more and heads back to her bedroom.

Limping inside, she throws the money and a couple more things in her bag. She picks up the drawing, placing it to her lips and kisses it before putting it in her bag. The backpack zips closed. Carrying the backpack across her shoulders, she leaves her room. Approaching the door out of the apartment, she turns the knob and hopes to leave the tragedy behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with this chapter, I added in a Harleen reference, using her middle name (Frances) for Ecco’s last name. I don’t think Ecco is like Harleen. But since Ecco is Gotham’s Harley, I decided to reference Harleen, being another version of Harley Quinn.
> 
> Let me know if you have questions about the fic and I’ll gladly answer.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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